


Ever yours, Vincent

by artepotter



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Croatia, Letters, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Stephen Strange tries to help, Summer, Tony Stark Feels
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-06-08
Updated: 2018-06-08
Packaged: 2019-05-19 21:11:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,417
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14881271
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/artepotter/pseuds/artepotter
Summary: Half a year after the Avengers defeated Thanos, Tony Stark couldn't take it anymore - he travelled far away, to live in a small cottage all by himself, naming it "recovery".After three weeks, he recieves a hand-written letter, with warm, supporting words.





	Ever yours, Vincent

**Author's Note:**

> Hey! So, here's the first chapter of my new fic! I've never written a longer fanfic in English before, please mind that :D

Tony Stark has been living in that cottage for three weeks, when he first saw rain.

He was sitting outside, in an old, but comfortable chair, and studied the drops as they met the dusty ground.

The air felt different - of course it did, since Tony didn’t even open a window in the past two days. The smell of nature did some good to him, he was pretty sure about that, but no summer storm could have washed away the bitterness he felt constantly.

He glared at the thin, green book, which was left on the coffee table days ago (which was hardly Rick Riordan’s fault). He stayed there for a few more minutes, before he shut the glass door behind him.

It was Friday afternoon, usually the living room was filled with orange, bright colors around that time, but now, because of the weather, everything was grey.

For a foreign eye, the room would have felt completely empty, unfriendly, not comfortable to be in. Tony, on the other hand, got pretty much used to it.

The man started to switch on his AI, as he did every Friday afternoon - he could say it was his only source of information from the outer world, except that small village nearby.

‘F.R.I.D.A.Y, hey,’ said he.

‘Good afternoon sir,’ answered the program a moment later.

‘What do we have this week?’

‘Two messages, one from Potts, Pepper, and one from Parker, Peter. One short report from Rogers, Steven. There are plenty of other emails sent to you, sir, but they are not on the Priority list.’

‘Okay.’ Tony sat down on the flower patterned couch, after he took painkillers. ‘Show me Peter’s message, the rest of it can be stored for later.’

‘Alright.’

The woman’s voice has no longer could be heard, but a short, only three paragraphs long email has appeared on the screen.

 

_Dear Mr. Stark,_

_Please let me know if I write too much, I don’t want to bother you more, or get in the way of your healing, but you asked me to write about how school’s going and stuff, so_

_This week was pretty awesome. I went to the cinema with Ned, and then he came over to watch series. (We watched Justice League by the way)_

_Aunt May is doing great, too. She said she wants to hear about you more, to make sure you are making some progress!_

_On Monday, there was an attack near Brooklyn Bridge. I was writing an exam during it, but thank god the others react extremely fast!! It was awesome!_

_But please let me know if you don’t want to hear about these!_

_Ned says hi too btw!_

_I hope you are slowly getting better, Mr. Stark, please take your meds and eat your vegetables! :D_

_Peter_

 

Tony stared at the screen, with ghost-like eyes, like the brown color completely ran out of life.

 _Peter is such an amazing kid_ , he thought. He shouldn’t be busy writing and worrying about a mentally ill man. He really shouldn’t.

Before tears could start flow on his cheeks, Tony stood up, and quickly walked to the bathroom upstairs.

Cold water has always helped, as he felt his skin cooling down, and thoughts concentrating only on the water’s temperature, nothing else.

From the dirty, broken mirror, a tiny man was looking up. His black locks were wet, miniature drops of water made an unbelievably loud noise as they met with the sink.

Tony Stark, genius, playboy, billionaire, philanthropist, sure. He was nothing.

A piece of filthy rock outside the garden valued ten times more than him.

Everything was more than him.

Tony couldn’t even face his own reflection.

‘Sir.’ F.R.I.D.A.Y.’s voice came from nowhere, then Tony remembered he forgot to switch her off. ‘You’re having a panic attack I’m afraid, again. The medicine is still on the bookshelf. Are you sure you don’t want to call someone?’

‘No, anything, but calling someone, no, no,’ he muttered.

‘Understood.’

He somehow managed to get down on the stairs, with his weak, trembling legs, and aching heart. The rain on the windows sounded like atomic bombs, the fridge’s quiet clattering held the voice of an explosion.

His hand didn’t shake, but he definitely felt like they did, he barely could hold the glass of water as he arrived to the kitchen.

The water spilt on his shirt, creating a huge, darker patch on the blue material.

Tony just gave up. He sat down on the cold, could-have-been-cleaner floor,and just listened to his own heavy breathing, like an irritating speech from the distance. He was out of his body, he looked at the short, pathetic man from a foreign angle.

Hours passed. Or minutes, he didn’t bother telling.

Tony was still sitting on the kitchen floor, the very last rays of sunshine were dancing on the walls. The room was filled with warm, happy colors, and yet there was this man in the middle of it, like a dark virus.

At least, this time it wasn’t that bad - he has been through a hundred times worse panic attacks, but the fact, that it was just because of the kid’s letter, well, wasn’t extremely promising.

When he finally managed to get upstairs again, so he could at least lay down somewhere comfortable, the night already had come.

The songs of distant cicadas sometimes functioned like a lullaby to Tony, but they have rarely worked. At least, they created some kind of calmer, natural environment for the billionaire.

He woke up early, much more earlier than it would have been necessary.

There were some jobs around the cottage what were waiting for to be done, like vacuuming the ground floor, and cleaning the windows, but as soon as Tony got out of bed, these little things seemed just way too much.

He was surprised he could even walk properly, as he looked at his weakened legs, then the cup of tea on the dining table. He didn’t even had motivation to lift that up.

The table was made of plastic, it was the typical Walmart kind, what campers buy last-minute. Tony enjoyed using furnitures like that.

Around eleven o’clock, he grabbed that Rick Riordan book he stopped reading days ago, and walked to the end of the garden, where a small, wooden bench stood, but before he could got further than the doorstep, he noticed something.

A light-brown envelope was placed right in front of the door. As Tony held it in his hands, he anxiously looked around, even though it was pretty clean the postman could not have been nearby.

He studied the paper, which flood a unique, archaic scent, like he would’ve did with a time-bomb, and he couldn’t hold it much longer than a few minutes before he threw it away - the material burned his fingers. Not in a literal way, but it didn’t make Tony more relaxed.

How did they find him?

Who found him?

That poor children’s book found itself put-away again, as the man sat down on the stairs to read the letter.

_Anthony Edward Stark,_

Yes, that letter was definitely from his pretty dead, angry father.

_I am sorry to bother you, I would like to say it in the very beginning; I don’t expect you to answer, you have all the rights to just burn this letter after you read it._

_I have been trying to write to you in the past two weeks, since there are a few things I can’t get out of my head. We didn’t have the chance to talk after the war ended - you have been avoiding me, I have been avoiding you, but both of us would have needed a conversation between us._

_You did your best during the war. No one on this universe could have done better, I can assure you. There’s no need to debate about that - I want you to know, everything what happened, could have been so much worse without you._

_I feel like, I need to help you, even if you are certain about that you do not need other people’s help._

_How are you? Are you sure it is the best for you there?_

_Is there anything I can do for you? Please, let me know, if you feel like it._

_And still, I can completely accept your actions, it doesn’t matter if you don’t want to hear about me ever again._

_Best wishes,_

**_Vincent._ **


End file.
